


On the Road

by scythefan



Category: Arc of a Scythe Series - Neal Shusterman
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 19:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19091929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scythefan/pseuds/scythefan
Summary: Due to Citra's slow driving and a storm, she and Scythe Curie must stay at a cheap motel on the side of the road in a small Ohio town. Scythe Curie opens up more about her past before her love affair with Scythe Faraday. Will Citra view her differently? This story takes place when Scythe Curie and Citra are living the nomadic lifestyle after the first attack on their lives in "Thunderhead." What occurs in their days on the road? How do these events strengthen their relationship?





	1. Rob's Motel

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: these characters belong to Neal Shusterman and the Arc of a Scythe series.

Citra and Scythe Curie had been living the nomadic lifestyle for a few days now. After the initial attack while driving, they hadn’t stayed in any town for more than a night or two. However, they continued with their gleanings as if nothing was amiss. Scythe Curie allowed Anastasia to continue her training on her car. The boy-sized dent had since been fixed from the accident that sent Greyson Tolliver to the revival center and significantly altered his life. Citra tried not to think about him often. Citra was beginning to get the hang of Scythe Curie’s manual car, but she stalled it every once and a while, took turns too carefully, and overall just drove slowly in order to avoid potential booby traps, though she did think their attacker would be too wise to attempt another attack the same way.

Citra pulled the antique car into a motel off the side of the road. They had been planning to stay at the Renaissance Marriot in Cincinnati, Ohio, where Citra was to perform a gleaning for a woman who had requested to be gleaned via an overdose on morphine, a simple, clean, and painless gleaning, for which Citra was thankful. With everything going on in the Scythedom, she did not have the energy for anything elaborate. Citra wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but her anxiety had been growing since that first attack, and her nanaties had to work extra hard to administer medication to ward off looming panic attacks. She was growing tired of always moving around, and she knew their new lifestyle was also putting a tool on Marie, who hadn’t been able to perform her usual gleaning rituals of cooking for the family of the gleaned since they never stayed in a place too long, nor did see have access to a kitchen.

Citra parked the car, actually managing to stay between the two white lines this time and turned off the ignition. The sky grew darker as if a storm was approaching. The Thunderhead had _some_ control over the weather but often chose to leave it alone if it wouldn’t cause catastrophic damage. Snow would fall tonight. They found an off-brand motel that came with a free warm breakfast, but then, everything was free for scythes. Citra grabbed her bag and insisted on carrying Scythe Curie’s, who walked into the lobby first, her lavender cloak whipping behind her in the wind. The man, Rob, at the front desk had his feet suspended on the counter with a white, powdered donut in his hand. The donut left sugar on his mustache, looking like snow.

Rob had inherited the motel from his parents who had since moved to Egypt with their new set of children. He had been part of his parents first set, but they had never been fully “present” when he was a boy. His younger sister, Patty, was gleaned when she was only 7 years old; he had been 10. His parents never fully recovered from the loss of their precious girl. Rob was an afterthought from there on out. He didn’t blame them of course, nor did he blame the scythe who had done it. Rob held a morbid curiosity of the mortal age and knew that a high percentage of children used to die from a variety of diseases. He was just thankful that he had not been the one to be gleaned. Living in a small Ohio town, Rob hadn’t seen a Scythe since his sister’s gleaning decades ago. This is why when two scythes walked in, he froze, his donut falling from his sausage fingers and rolling behind the desk.

“If you’re here to glean me, you must know that I have no immediate family and will resist.” Rob didn’t know what came over him, but he stood up and raised his two fists. He was a short man, multiple inches below Citra and perhaps a whole foot shorter than Scythe Curie.

Scythe Curie raised a silver eyebrow at him. As much as a part of her wanted to glean the man for saying such a foolish thing, she knew it wasn’t right and she didn’t want to create a bigger headache for herself. She simply wanted a warm room and a place to spend the night and ride out the storm. “We are not here to glean anyone. We need a room, the best you have.” Scythe Curie crossed her arms.

“Why of course, Your Honors.” Rob wiped his brow. He had obviously been sweating even though it was quite chilly in the room. He looked on his tablet, noticing he only had two rooms open. “All of my rooms are equal. I run a cheap motel. I have two rooms open at opposite sides of the building but will move people so that you both may have adjoining rooms.”

Citra stepped in. She felt bad for the man, though she didn’t know why. “That’s alright, those two rooms will be fine.” Rob sighed and the tension he’d been holding left his shoulders. He liked the younger scythe. He grabbed two room keys.

“One room shall actually suffice.” Scythe Curie had looked out the window. It was dark. There were no street lights. It didn’t appear as if the Thunderhead was incredibly active in this area, and she didn’t get a good vibe from the town. Being separated from Anastasia didn’t not feel like a good idea, God forbid they had to make a quick escape should the mastermind behind their last attack strike again tonight.

“Of course, Your Honors.” He gave Scythe Curie the key and bowed, hoping the two scythes would depart quickly and he would never have to see a cloaked figure again. “Please let me know if there’s any way I may be of help.”

“When has this town last seen a gleaning.” Scythe Curie flipped the key in her hand, its jagged edges reminded her of a meat knife—how she missed cooking. This motel and town truly were ancient.

Rob stuttered, sweat collecting on his brow again. He tried to think of the last gleaning but could not recall. It was a small town, 500 people, tucked off one of the highways that connected much larger towns and cities. At least a decade he thought. “I am not sure, Your Honor.”

“Very well,” Scythe Curie said. She turned around and walked out to their room. Rob wouldn’t be sleeping well tonight.

“Why would you do that,” Citra hissed. “That poor man is going to have a heart attack and will need to be taken to a revival center come morning.” They reached the door, and Scythe Curie used the key to open the old manual lock. It was likely as old as her car.

“Don’t fret for him, dear.” She entered the room and turned on the light. “I just needed to remind him it was not his choice who and if someone were to get gleaned.”

“Well, can you at least glean someone in the morning?” Citra sat on the edge of the full-size bed. She pulled off her boots and unhooked her turquoise robe, allowing it to fall from her shoulders. “Would you like me to take the floor or the couch.” She pointed to the dusty seat in the corner that hardly resembled a couch.

“Don’t be foolish,” Scythe Curie said. “I just do not like the feel of this town at did not want us to be separated in case a quick departure is required.”

“Who would follow us to this dump of a town. I don’t think we have anything to worry about, especially with the weather.”

Scythe Curie gave Anastasia a stern gaze, but nevertheless removed her own stiff boots and hung up her robe. She sat at the opposite side of the bed and looked down at Anastasia who was sprawled across the springy mattress. She smiled to herself. The girl held such poise and compassion even as they were being hunted. Sometimes, it was hard to remember she was only 18 years old. Citra opened her eyes and caught Scythe Curie looking at her.

“You best not fall asleep now, dear. It’ll spoil your nights rest and you have yet to brush your teeth.”

Citra rolled her eyes. “You’re not my mother,” she smirked but still sat up and yawned. She was hungry, but not hungry enough to suggest they go out in this weather. “Would you like help with your hair?” Citra and Scythe Curie often aided each other with brushing and braiding each-others locks. Scythe Curie sat at the edge of the bed with Citra behind her. “Are you really going to glean someone in this poor town?” She undid the braid and admired how Scythe Curie’s braid fell down into a silver waterfall.

“I don’t see why not. This town hasn’t seen a gleaning in well over a decade likely, and I need to glean three more people this week. It will be fast in the morning. We’ll make it with plenty of time for your gleaning in Cincinnati.”

Citra sighed. She still didn’t like the idea of gleaning someone in this small town completely by chance, though she knew by chance was the best way to go about it, but she did feel a little guilty. If she hadn’t been such a terrible driver, they would have missed this small town completely and it would remain whole for another decade maybe. Scythe Faraday had always meticulously researched his gleanings before performing them. Nothing was ever left up to chance. Thinking of Scythe Faraday reminded her of Rowan, who was now on the run as Scythe Lucifer. Many in the Scythedom thought he may be behind the hunt for she and Scythe Curie, and Citra struggled to hold her tongue against them. She knew the scythes who started these rumors were just trying to be helpful. They weren’t the foul scythes or New Order scythes who Rowan was out to get. Citra thought back to the brief kiss she and Rowan had shared. It seemed so long ago since they had spent time together, since she had first felt love for him. She didn’t know what to think anymore. They had both since changed so much. She didn’t know what to feel.

 "Marie,” Citra said.

“Yes, dear?” They had changed positions. With Scythe Curie’s hair up in a high bun, she was now brushing out Citra’s dark curls.

“Did you carry feelings for Faraday for the full 50 years between the time you became ordained and you two began seeing each other?”

Scythe Curie’s hands froze, and Citra hoped that she hadn’t overstepped. “Do you use conditioner, Anastasia? Your hair really is awfully tangled.” She sighed and set the brush down. Scythe Curie hoped that this question didn’t have to do with Rowan. Even if the boy thought that taking out New Order scythes was the right thing to do, he was a bad influence for Anastasia, and she wished Anastasia  wouldn’t be hung up or get involved with him.

“I do use conditioner.” Citra sighed and leaned back against Scythe Curie, resting her head against her mentor. She looked up at her with round brown eyes, hoping she would address her question, but Scythe Curie looked flushed at the mention of Faraday. Scythe Curie reached over and grabbed some leave in conditioner. She began stroking it through Anastasia’s hair.  

“My feelings for Faraday came and went over the time we were first apart.” She sighed and wiped her hands on a towel before brushing Citra’s hair into a tight ponytail. “I was drawn to his intensity, how he could hold a room with just his presence, not in an intimidating way, but with his compassion and empathy and goodwill for all those present.”

Citra glanced back at Scythe Curie. She was looking off at one of the stained walls of the motel room. A stray length of her silver hair curved along her sharp jawline. “But more so, he was convenient when we ran into each other after our fifty years apart.”

“Convenient?” Citra’s eyes caught Scythe’s Curie’s, who glanced away.

“We may be scythes, Anastasia, but we’re also humans. As humans, it’s normal to require physical contact at times.” Scythe Curie grabbed her bag and went into the bathroom. Citra heard the faucet running as the older scythe began to wash away the day’s dirt and stress.

Due to the 9th commandment, scythes were not allowed to take spouses, but intimate relations were not forbidden. Citra had heard of scythes who took up “companionships” in order to fulfill their physical or intimate needs. She never thought of Scythe Curie to be one of those scythes, but she supposed living for over 200 years without physical contact would be hard. She was only 18 years old, and although her nanaties kept her hormone levels balanced, she often felt the yearn for someone to hold her, for that physical touch that was the only solution to the loneliness that would enter her heart for a brief second before her nanaties urged the feeling go away. From what Citra had heard, many of these companionships were through paid transactions, the cost being a year of immunity, as scythes did not handle money, nor did they have many (normally, none) relationships outside of the Scythedom network.

Scythe Curie returned shortly in sweatpants and a hoodie that matched the lavender of her robes. She didn’t just look like lavender, she smelled like it, too. Citra wasn’t used to seeing Scythe Curie out of her robe or the lavender clothes she wore beneath. “Why was Scythe Faraday convenient at that time?” She didn’t mean to prod. Citra asked the questions before it was run by her better judgement.

Scythe Curie sat on the edge of the bed. She had pulled her journal from her bag but placed it on the bedside table now. She got up and walked to the window. The storm had arrived and the wind picked up, whispering its way beneath their door. Outdoors was swirling with white, like the confectioner sugar that had caught on her mustache. Scythe Curie shuddered and drew the blinds sharply closed before returning the soft glow reflected on the bed from the lamp that had gathered a thick layer of dust. She thought the Thunderhead was supposed to keep everything clean, but maybe it didn’t work like that. It had been so long since Scythe Curie spoke to the Thunderhead. Sometimes, she missed its presence, the feeling of never truly being alone. When Citra had first arrived, it took Scythe Curie a while to admit to herself that she enjoyed, even cherished, Citra’s company—she had yet to fully express this to who she now most commonly called Anastasia.

Citra was sitting cross-legged on the bed. The chill of the storm made her shudder. Scythe Curie came and sat next to her, folding her legs beneath her. “I had another companion before Scythe Faraday. We had been friends in high school before I was chosen to be an apprentice, and we kept in contact throughout the years. We lived in the same town before I moved to Fallingwater.” Scythe Curie looked at the lamp, her grey eyes glowing like the full moon. Her face was stoic, her skin free from wrinkles, except for the thin creases that were either present from age, stress, sleepless nights, or a combination of the three.

“What was their name?” Citra didn’t want to pry, but maybe Scythe Curie wanted to share.

“Her name was Margret.” Citra didn’t take a double take at the female name. Their post-mortality world had evolved into a liberal society. In the days of mortality, homosexuality was often seen as taboo, in many cases forbidden by the different religions, but in the days of the Thunderhead, the notion that love is love truly was embraced by all citizens and scythes.

“We were companions for two decades. I granted her immunity every other year as to avoid too much suspicion.” It was normal for scythes to take companions, but normally these companions cycled out often. Citra thought she saw a tear in the corner of her mentor’s eye, but perhaps it was just the angle. How much had Scythe Curie gone through in the 200+ years she had spent on the earth? Citra didn’t know what to do, so she scooted closer to Scythe Curie and looped her arm around hers, resting her head on the older scythe’s shoulder. The fabric of her night clothes was soft, like petals from the most delicate flowers.

“Margret was different from my family or other friends. She didn’t try to understand what being a scythe entailed, or the ways in which it changed me. She knew I was no longer Susan. She accepted my changes, accepted me for the person I had become.”

Citra sensed a bad ending was attached to Scythe Curie’s story, so she gave her a tight side hug. Scythe Curie looked down at the young scythe who had already been through so much and would likely go through so much more. She bent down and kissed Citra’s forehead. She laid down, for their day of evasion had suddenly caught up with her as her nanaties raced to relieve the tension growing in her spine. Citra followed her, resting her head on her shoulder and draped her leg over her mentor’s. Physical contact. It made her feel safe. It made her feel loved. It made her feel human.

Scythe Curie wrapped her arm around Citra and pulled the young scythe who meant so much to her closer. Outside the storm was growing, and the cold air seeped beneath the crack of their door. “What happened to Margret,” Citra whispered.

“Scythe Javert had his eye on me. He cornered me on multiple occasions, insinuating he wanted us to be companions. Truth be told, it is not unusual for scythes to satisfy each-others physical needs as long as it doesn’t become routine, which is the mistake Michael and I later made.” Scythe Curie pulled the blanket over them to combat the chill imposed by the motel room’s poor insulation. “I refused his advances on multiple occasions, so he tracked down my encounters with Margret and gleaned her during one of the years she did not have immunity. I continued to refuse his advances, and he has since self-gleaned.”

Citra didn’t know what to say. She felt Marie go tense, as if she was struggling to maintain her composure. “I would have died a thousand times to save Margret. I couldn’t turn Scythe Javert in, for the Scythedom would have deduced that I broke the 9th commandment, and Margret likely would have been gleaned regardless.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Marie.” Citra used her mentor’s first name.

“I regret not coming forward and exposing the ulterior motive behind this particular gleaning of Scythe Javert, even if it cost us, I would have done Margret right.”

Citra didn’t know what else to say, so she just laid there and listened to the wind and the steady beat of Scythe Curie’s heart. “As you’ve said before, Marie, it’s hard not to have regrets, but we can’t let them weigh us down.”

Scythe Curie sighed. “Be careful for your feelings for this boy Rowan, Citra. I don’t imagine it will end well, dear.” Scythe Curie was being truthful, but her words still hurt Citra, who didn’t know exactly what she felt. Were her feelings for Rowan even true, or had they simply developed due to the intense situation they were both thrown into of being a scythe’s apprentice, feelings of circumstance. Citra observed was that when she’s in an intense situation with anybody, whether it be a battle for one scythe ring or an attack threatening her life, she grew close with the person who shared the experience with her. Whether the feeling she developed from this newfound closeness were real or not, she wasn’t sure. But did they need to be real? Could she just enjoy the feelings in the moment and ride them out until they either strengthened or were lost with the departing sun?

“Do feelings of passion ever end well, Marie?” Citra breathed calmly, and her breath against Scythe Curie’s neck made the older scythe flinch.

 "Not in the long term, dear.” Scythe Curie reached over and turned the light off. They needed sleep if they were going to glean tomorrow. They owed it to the people whose lives they took to be fully present in the moment.


	2. Mother of the twins

Citra awoke with a startle. She opened her eyes and it was still dark out, but there was a knocking on the door. Scythe Curie was still asleep, and Citra pulled herself from her mentor’s arms that had since wrapped around her, holding her tight. She regretted leaving the warmth of the older women, but the knocking on their door was incessant. She glanced through the peephole, half expecting to see another scythe or someone responsible for their attacks but it was only Rob. She opened the door a hair to see Rob standing in 6 inches of snow. He was carrying a stack of blankets.

“I know it gets cold in these rooms on evenings like this,” me murmured. “I thought you all might appreciate some extra blankets.”

Citra smiled at Rob and thanked him. She would try and grant him immunity the next morning when Scythe Curie wasn’t looking. “Who was that?” Scythe Curie was awake, but she didn’t turn on the lamp beside the bed.

“Rob brought us some extra blankets.” She set them on the end of the bed and crawled back under the covers. She missed the warmth of Marie’s arms but didn’t want to address why. She told herself it was because Scythe Curie was the only mother figure left in her life. Her biological mom no longer knew how to act around her, nor her she. Citra snuggled back into Marie’s embrace and rested her head in the crook of her neck, because it felt natural.

“He seems like a kind man. Perhaps I won’t glean him.” Scythe Curie sighed.

“You were going to glean him? Because he annoyed you?” Citra pulled back and looked at Marie. She was on her side facing her. The moonlight shone through the shades and illuminated Marie’s content face.

“Not because of the foolish man he is, but because he knows we stayed here, and when we have people after us…” Citra’s indignant face slowly turned to a face of understanding. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I allowed something to happen to you, dear.”

Maybe it was the worry in Marie’s eyes or her pale skin in the moonlight framed by her silver hair that fill in wisps around her face. Or that Citra was exhausted and confused and craved physical comfort. And it was cold outside, and she felt secluded from the real world in their crappy motel room on the side of the road in a small Ohio town that hadn’t seen a gleaning in over a decade. But Citra moved forward, pressing her lips to Scythe Curie’s. Scythe Curie’s lips instinctively parted. They were softer than Rowan’s and tasted of mint and lavender and were warm when she was expecting them to be cold.

Scythe Curie was completely taken off guard, a feeling she was not used to experiencing. It took her a moment to get her bearings and push Citra back by the shoulders. “What in heavens name are you doing.” But it wasn’t a real question, because as much as Scythe Curie denied it, she felt the same about the young woman in her arms. They brought each other warmth, comfort, company. They felt as if they were the only family that they had left in this unfair fraction of the world brought about by the Sythedom.

“I don’t know.” She spoke the truth. “I feel safe with you…it feels natural to be with you.” Citra had always felt like she didn’t need anyone to make her feel safe. She never minded taking off on her own, putting herself in risky situations with dire consequences, but when she was with a Scythe Curie, someone else had her back, and she didn’t feel so exhausted all of the time, always looking over her own shoulder. Living in the present was real. She was worried she had offended the older scythe or at the very least made her extremely uncomfortable. Citra rolled around to the other side of the bed and fell asleep.

Scythe Curie listened as the young scythe’s breaths evened out into those of sleep. Given Scythe Curie’s age and her role as Anastasia’s mentor, any sort of relationship outside of friendship would be entirely inappropriate, even more so than the scandal between her and Scythe Faraday. She had never chosen to take an apprentice, for she never could put the weight of a scythe’s responsibilities on a young soul. For a while, she resented Scythe Faraday for taking her on but eventually understood taking apprentices was necessary to continue the Scythedom. Scythe Curie grabbed the spare blanket at the end of the bed and draped it over Citra. She rolled to the other side of the bed and fell asleep.

Citra woke up to an extra blanket wrapped tucked around her. The room was chilled. She looked over to see that Scythe Curie was nowhere in the room. Her bag was packed and placed by the door. Citra had the sinking feeling that Marie had gone to glean Rob. She darted out of bed, threw on her robes, and ran to the motel lobby. Rob was at the breakfast counter, mixing the engineered eggs that he had added too much water to.

“Your honorable Scythe…” Rob had realized he never got the names of the two scythes who stayed in his motel the previous night.

“Scythe is just fine. You needn’t know my name,” Citra said. She scanned the people who were all eating breakfast. They had stopped their meal and were staring at her as if her presence had frozen them. Scythe Curie was not among them. “Thank you for the room. I would like to grant you immunity.” She held out her ring, and Rob gratefully lowered his head to kiss it and secure the placement of his DNA in the Scythedom. Citra nodded at the crowd before grabbing a banana and heading back to the motel room.

She found Scythe Curie washing her blade in the bathroom sink. “You gleaned someone.” It wasn’t a question.

“There was a barn about a mile to our left. A farming family. They had a dozen children. I gleaned their seventeen-year-old boy. Back in the days of mortality, there were all sorts of farming accidents resulting in unforeseen deaths.” Scythe Curie wiped the blade dry on a white towel and looked at Citra in the mirror. Citra stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. A few of Scythe Curie’s silver hairs had come loose from her braid. She had walked to and from the farm rather than drive, giving her time to think alone. “You granted the motel owner immunity I presume, Anastasia.”

“Yes, Scythe Curie.”

Citra and she had been on a first name basis for a few months now. Scythe Curie looked up again at the mention of her formal title, but Citra had already left for the car.

They found the lady Citra was to glean in Cincinnati right where she said she’d be. Helga brown lived in a two-bedroom apartment downtown. She had just turned the corner for the first time five years ago and had just given birth to twin boys two years ago. She wanted to be gleaned in her bed, with her husband and twins near. Scythe Curie stood in the back of the room while Citra performed the gleaning.

“Please, Honorable Anastasia.” He sat on the bed next to his wife, their two young boys squirming between them. Citra was cursing herself for choosing this woman in the supermarket a month prior. If she had only known the woman had two young children…

“I am sorry, but in the age or mortality, women died from childbirth all of the time, especially when they gave birth to twins.” Citra pulled the injection of morphine from her robe and approached the small family. “I am sorry,” she repeated.

The women looked up at her, her eyes as dark as a starless sky and her lips quivering like a lost child. “Will it hurt.”

“It will feel like falling into a deep, deep sleep.” The woman bent down and gave each son a long kiss on the head. “Be brave, my two angels. Keep your father company and remind him to read to you so that you both develop an extensive vocabulary. Don’t let the Thunderhead do all the work.” She squeezed her two boys until they started putting up a fuss, and the husband took them into his lap. “Be kind to the next woman your father marries.”

“Oh, it will only ever be you, Greta.” He bent down and put his forehead against hers, as his tears flowed freely now. “I am so thankful that we got to spend an entire life together and reset to 25 to bring these two precious kiddos into the world.” He looked up and made eye contact with Citra and Scythe Anastasia. “We were high school sweet hearts. And even though it is your time to go, I am thankful we were given more years than we would have had in the age of mortality.” They both looked at Citra and gave her the nod to go ahead.

Citra stepped closer and slid the injection of morphine into the woman’s veins. Her heart stopped beating before her head hit the pillow. The husband put his head down and sobbed while his two sons fussed. “Why mommy sleep when the sun is out?” One of the boys asked. The other boy prodded his mother and began to cry when she didn’t move.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Citra said. The man looked up and nodded. He kissed Citra’s ring and had his two sons kiss it as well despite their fussing.

Citra and Scythe Curie left the apartment without another word. “I haven’t had a gleaning this difficult in a long time.” Citra wasn’t going to cry, but thinking of the two young boys sleeping without their mother tonight tempted her.

“They will be alright. The father appears to be a good man. He’ll make sure the two boys remember the memory of their mother.” Scythe Curie looked coldly ahead. She thought it odd that the parents wanted the boys in the room during the gleaning but understood similar situations occurred in the age of mortality.

Citra couldn’t help but think that if she gleaned following Scythe Faraday’s routine, today would not have happened. Scythe Faraday performed hours of research on the people he was to glean well before he chose them to glean. Scythe Curie, on the other hand, did her research afterwards. Citra did something in between. Sometimes she researched her gleaning subjects, other times she didn’t, but she always gave the people 30 days to prepare. She wondered what Greta used her 30 days for, probably make memories with her two sons.

They reached the Marriott they had planned to stay at the previous night. The man at the counter looked up upon their arrival and acknowledged them. He wasn’t as spooked as Rob was at the Motel. He handed them each a key. “Nothing but the best for you both, Your Honors.” He booked them in the two-bedroom suite on the twelfth floor. They went up to their room, and Citra immediately locked herself in her room. She looked out the window at the city lights. There must be thousands of people out there partying as it was a Friday night, without a care in the world, well except for being gleaned, but Citra would trade everything weighing her down for that sole weight. She changed into her sweatpants and hoodie, grabbed her journal, and crawled into bed. She did not feel like going out or even going down into the lobby for dinner tonight.

There was a gentle knock on her door when Citra was halfway through spilling her thoughts to the page. “Come in.” She looked up to see Scythe Curie gently close the door behind her.

“Can I get you anything to eat, dear?” Scythe Curie sat on the edge of the bed. She wanted to touch the girl, provide her some comfort and show her that she was not alone in this, but she dared not after what happened the previous evening.

Citra looked away. “I am alright, Marie.” She put her notebook aside, and moved to the side of the bed to be next to Scythe Curie. They looked outside the large window together. “Did you ever go out and enjoy the night life?” She didn’t allow Marie time to respond. “I feel so bad for those two young boys, watching their mother be gleaned! Growing up without a mother who would have loved them so.” She thought of her own family, how her mother would experiment with holiday dishes. How her brother would always barge into her room to declare dinner was ready. How her father would always ask her how her day way and call her by her childhood nickname when she was well into her teenage years. The Thunderhead passed on the message that she was to play an important part in the future of civilization, but right now all Citra wanted to do was feel normal. She wanted to go on date nights on the town and come home to a watchful father. She wanted to fall in and out of love and play videogames with her brother Ben and beat her dad at chess and laugh at her mom’s latest food creations.

“Today shows us why our roles as Scythes are so imperative,” Scythe Curie said. “The loss of Greta today happened time and time again in the mortal age. Young mothers would die of cancer, heart failure, car accidents, and many other unfortunate events. So many young children would be left without parents. Children are stripped of their parents far less now.” She worried she wasn’t improving Citra’s mood. “What I am trying to say, Anastasia, is that by performing your gleanings fairly and with compassion, you are part of what allows so many children to grow up with their families, even if it doesn’t feel like that today.”

Citra nodded, but she had had enough of Scythe Curie’s company and crawled under the covers. Scythe Curie got the hint and left.

**Author's Note:**

> *Please drop me a review! I would love to know your feedback, if you’d like to see this story continued, and what direction you’d like it to take!!*


End file.
